The Truth
by ScienceBehindFiction
Summary: "It was then that the presence, the spirit of a dear friend to the couple, walked away. Leaving them wrapped in each other's arms, forever entwined."


**Spoiler warning:** This work of fiction contains spoilers for Angel: After The Fall up to #18 [Though they can be easily found on Wikipedia]

**Disclamer:** Obviously I don't own the characters & am in no way associated with Joss Whedon. I'm merely writing this for love of the fandom and pairing!

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We are told as children that there is indeed life after death. That after leading a rich and fulfilling life the good are sent to Heaven; a place of eternal joy where we are reunited with our dearest loved ones, a place of eternal light and angels. Those deemed as sinners are sentenced to Hell, descending into chaos, all fire and brimstones, tortured until the end of everything.

As children, we accept these as truth and carry those beliefs with us into adulthood, changing as we do, though the concept remains the same. We in turn, pass this new yet constant truth onto our own children, the new and future generation.

However, truth is not always what it appears to be, truth can mean different things to different entities, be seen through different perspectives; truth can always be false.

How can you separate the sinners from the saints when the good mix with the bad, black mixes with white and forms grey?

So these greys are left in limbo, there is no room for them in this specific truth.

Sometimes those who'd be left there, those who made pacts with demons for the greater good in life, those who died heroes can be sent to Hell, regardless of whether they deserved to or not, and the fates choose not to intervene.

Wesley Wyndam-Pryce is just one of those unfortunates.

In his thirty-eight years of life, he had been beaten, outcast and berated. Lost everyone he had ever been close to, ever loved. One would hardly classify his life as having been rich and fulfilling, there had been moments though, as there is in each and every one of our lives. He had found his soulmate, found the one person who would complete his life, the one who would be willing to spend the rest of her life with him; a task many of us never complete. Alas, his happiness had been short lived; she had been taken from him all too soon, merely a week after they had finally entered into a romantic relationship with one another, three years since he had known her. He had been forced to gaze upon her form even after her death, an ancient demon having forced itself into her body; he had watched it gut her from the inside out and render her into little more than a shell. He had reluctantly accepted this truth and taken this new being under his wing, how could he not? The ancient one, Illyria, walked in the shell of his beloved, wore her face, held her memories; she was all he had left of Fred.

It wasn't enough though, not enough to chase the pain away. It only served to drive the metaphorical knife deeper into his gut, twisting as it went.

His beloved Fred's death had been the spark that had ignited the fire of his damnation, the poison he drank each night since, only added to the inferno, not enough to let the fires consume him though; he wouldn't allow it, couldn't allow it. The choice to end his own life would be the coward's way out, and she had insisted she walked amongst heroes; she thought of him as her bookman, her hero. Therefore, he would continue to walk alongside Charles, Lorne, Angel and Spike. He would go along with Angel's plan to play Wolfram & Hart at their own game; he would help him fulfil the Shanshu. If he should perish, he would go down with a fight and die a hero just as she thought he was; he had certainly achieved that goal. He had entered into combat with the demon warlock, Cyvus Vail; lost the battle and caved into the weakness her death had initiated, just to see her face one last time.

He had accepted Illyria's lie because she held his love's memories, because every time she took his love's form she became just a little more human; the demon's own memories pushed back while his Fred's took front and centre, somehow her love had transcended time itself, defied reason, come to him even after her death. So he thought, in a way, it wouldn't be a lie, it defied all logic but it would be her, it would be his Fred speaking through Illyria. Her words, her emotions brought forth from her memories, and for one precious moment he could be her bookman again, she would be real and he would tell her the words he would have spoken every day for the rest of their lives.

Then there was Hell. She had promised Heaven but they had dragged him straight into Hell. By all accounts, he should have foreseen it; he had signed a contract with Wolfram & Hart well aware of what the ramifications might be. After all, he had seen what had become of Lilah after her own death.

He was damned and no one could save him. He would never see her again, never be able to hear her voice. They had only prolonged his suffering, given him the slightest glimmer of hope that after the smoke cleared they would be reunited and he would be released from his contract, if he helped them, if he became their link to Angel, their conduit.

He accepted, as they knew he would. Because even if there was the slightest chance that he could see her again, even just for one moment more, then he would take it.

He had fulfilled his task now and walked off hoping to see her again; she was dead, and so was he.

Heaven, he now knew, did not exist, for he was here, in this place, this silent nothing. It was not Hell either, for he had been there, he had defeated it alongside Angel and been sent here in return.

This place seemed like a prison, as if he was trapped inside his own mind, far worse than any Hell ever could be. He stood, staring out at the foreboding plain, inexplicable terror filling his soul and then there was nothing. His vision faded to black, reality distorting around him, and when his sight was returned, he saw everything, saw every moment of his life, could feel it; could feel the raw emotion seeping through his being once more, could hear the cacophony of sound with perfect clarity. Then there was her, he could hear her beautiful voice resonating around this foreign Hell, cutting through the fear and leaving happiness in its place; but as much comfort as it brought, it pained him twice as hard, hearing those words.

"Would you have loved me?" Her question echoing in his mind, repeatedly as if on loop and he found himself crippled, the pain too much to bear. It signalled the beginning of the end for them, she wanted to know such a simple thing before her passing and he had given her such an earnest answer.

"I've loved you since I've known you. No, that's not-I think maybe even before." Because that's what he felt, it was almost instinct. It was as if he had been drawn to her from the start, as if their love was always meant to be.

The silence returned for a moment only to be replaced by another tragically painful memory; it was the same day, the same place, still her death. He watched as the virus spread, the demon consumed her and still she fought against it, she was so strong, stronger than any of them, but even the strongest of entities would not be able to withstand that kind of torment. She shot up, the pain becoming unbearable; crying out in agony to what he supposed was the demon inside.

"I'm with him! He won't leave me now, we're so close." He moved closer to her, trying to give what little comfort his words could provide.

"I will never leave you." It was the truth of the matter, the truest of truths, he would never choose to leave her, never want to; had the result been different that day, he would still have stuck by his conviction, stuck by her side.

"You won't leave me?" she asked in desperation

"I won't." He clarified. His own grief evident in his voice.

Moments passed and she moved his hand to her heart, her words soft and pained.

"He's with me."

The tragic irony of it all was that he never would be with her, not now, not in this place. Whatever this was; she didn't deserve its bittersweet torture. She deserved something of infinite grandeur, happiness and love; she deserved something worthy of her fairytales. She deserved that beautiful cliché.

If this was to be his Heaven, his Hell, his eternity; then he wished her never to be a part of it. Oh, he wanted her there, of course he did; he wanted to see her smile, hold her in his arms, and feel her lips against his. He wanted that fairytale ending more than anything, but if it meant trading her chance of Heaven for his comfort; he would gladly give that dream up.

A warm breeze surrounded him, an occurrence he would not have thought possible in this place; however, a light touch to his shoulder assured him it was. Whispered words from a strikingly familiar voice ushered him forward, told him the truth of the matter and those that should have been; it told him how things weren't meant to end like this. How he and Fred should have had a future together; a beautiful one. How theirs would have been the point zero-one percent of relationships that achieved perfect happiness. It then apologised for this; told him instead of what had become of Angel, how he had signed away his destiny, informed him that he was here to set it right.

Of course, he had challenged this and asked the presence why it couldn't just put him to rest, why it had to drag him back down there and in doing so sentence Los Angeles to eternal Hell, forced to repeat events over and over until world's end.

A light chuckle was its response to this, followed up by that voice again, telling him how, for a smart man, he could be so stupid. The breeze engulfed him once more; this time showing him a darkened street and large building from which he saw Angel exit, touching a golden plaque affixed to its wall as he went.

The presence chose to linger a while longer on the scene before him, seemingly zooming in so he could see exactly what was written there;

"Los Angeles public library Burkle Wyndam-Pryce wing." A ghost of a smile graced his features even before the thoughts invaded his mind, the thoughts of his friend, the thoughts of Angel.

"_My ghost is gone. It was the price we paid for returning things to normal. Wouldn't be surprised if that was exactly what Wolfram & Hart had in mind. So even if we won, it felt like a defeat._

_I miss them. Every day I miss them; every time I think of them, I hope for the same thing._

_Let them be __**together**__. Wherever they are, they've earned it. They deserve it." _

As quickly as they had entered, they vanished. Leaving behind the slightest glimmer of hope, and with that, understanding.

She was here, in this place; they would be together. This was to become their paradise, for Angel's sake as much as their own. The Powers would have their champion do their bidding once more, to continue fighting the good fight and vanquishing the evil that stood in his way. He should have been glad at this, should have been glad that his friend would reach the destiny that he deserved and yet, all he could think about was her. If she was truly here, then where? Why could he not see her?

He did so much as ask the presence, to shout at the ether, but to no avail. It was another form of torture; it had to be; to promise him an eternity of love, only to take it away again. He should have known, should never have believed it; he was a watcher after all.

Moments passed before the presence made itself known once more, telling him truths that he'd rather it kept to itself. It told him how that was part of the problem, he always thought of himself as the watcher, even though that time had passed years ago. He always tried to disprove the things he did not understand, the things he'd never been taught, the things he was blind to. It told him truths that he'd never really dwelled on, told him how every time he was with Fred, every time he was with the woman he loved more than anything, more than could be expressed with mere words; he became something more. He became his true self; he finally became Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, the man, not the watcher. He, when it all came down to it, looked with his heart regardless of what his head told him, he became whatever she needed; a friend, a confidant, a lover.

It told him to look with his heart once again, told him that once he did, he'd be able to have the ending he so desperately wished for and it wouldn't be a lie, it wouldn't be like his last moments on Earth. It would be real, so real. It cautioned him too, told him that he may not like what he initially found; it told him how her soul could never truly be destroyed, once consumed by the fires of resurrection, it could merely be broken; it was right though, he wasn't sure if he could even bear the thought of that, never mind the sight. It pained him to imagine her like that, lost and alone, hurt and helpless; she had been so strong in life, better than anyone he'd ever known, better than The Powers That Be, better than any champion living or dead.

All he had to do was believe, be the man that he was before Illyria, be the man she loved, not this broken being. Because how could he help her if, he was no better off.

It took him mere moments to do so, she was his reason for being, his light. All he had to do was think, think of all those precious moments they had spent together; imagine she was here, just as the presence promised.

The truth was revealed to him as the ether cleared, revealing what he had loved and feared, she was here, in this place. All this time, all these months, she had been here, lost and alone. She just lay there, as she had on that day, uttering something inaudible; he tried not to think back, tried to clear his head of anything remotely related, for fear that if he did, she would disappear again. So instead, he did the only other thing he could do, the only thing he wanted to do; he ran to her. However, as he drew closer to her, he wanted to stop dead in his tracks as he finally heard her whispers. She was so terrified, so alone, and she was calling for him, her hero, and her bookman. So he continued on his way to her, faster if it was at all possible, reaching her in what he thought was a matter of seconds; time was hard to track in this plain of existence. Nonetheless, he was right there, by her side once more. In spite of that, she continued to call to him; her voice so without hope that his heart would have broken clean in two, had he still one.

He knelt down beside her, reaching out to touch her, to pull her close to him, and he succeeded; after months of not being able to touch anything, to feel anything, he felt the warmth that was her, the feel of his skin against hers as he gently caressed her, tried to comfort her tortured soul. It worked; her mantra stopped and she uttered words to him that he never thought he would hear again.

"Wesley, my Wesley?" those words came, as more of a question than anything else and he knew she needed reassurance that he was here, she was in his arms.

He pulled her closer still, holding onto her for dear life as she mirrored his actions, tears welling up in her eyes and each and every time they fell, he would gently wipe them away.

"Hush now, I'm here; I'm with you." He whispered.

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, starring into to the brilliant blue that were his eyes, seeing the beauty that was his soul, reflected in them. If only he could see it too, if only he knew how much she truly treasured him, if only she could find the right words, could reassure him of her love just as he had his. Instead, she chose to take his hand, entwining it with hers and this time, he was the one to place them against her silent heart.

"I'm with you, always." He stated.

"Forever." She replied, gently leaning in to capture his lips; kissing him with a tender passion. They parted reluctantly, only drawing back to gage the other's reaction, mega-watt grins plastered on both their faces. They had been without each other for so long that they weren't ever going to let the other go, be this a Heavenly dimension or not.

He pulled her then, into a loving, tender embrace, whispering sweet nothings into her ear and she once again pressed her lips to his, showing him a passion that they had previously been denied, and when it was done, they relaxed into each other; her head gently resting on his chest, his arms wrapped around her in a protective embrace. They should have had perfect happiness on Earth but here; here was bliss.

It was then that the presence, the spirit of a dear friend to the couple, walked away. Leaving them wrapped in each other's arms, forever entwined.

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Please read & review as they are much appreciated (I don't mind constructive criticism, just please don't flame me)

Also, anonymous reviews are enabled so that those without accounts can still leave feedback if they want to.

**A/N** - The spirit I've made reference to is that of Cordelia Chase so I suppose there was a bit of implied Cordy/Angel in there too (As this is cannon within After The Fall -Both the pairing and the fact that she's a spirit sent by TPTB-) I'm also not sure if I explained this properly but immediately after his death in Not Fade Away, Wesley was sent as an incorporeal ghost to be Wolfram & Hart's link to Angel (whilst LA had been sentenced to Hell by them) and after both he and Angel managed to figure out a way to reset LA to a time before Hell (Right after Not Fade Away -So Wes is still dead-) he basically just walked off leaving Spike in charge of Illyria & faded away. So yeah, I thought that was such a tragic ending for him and so I wrote up this slightly happy ending :D *You really need to read After The Fall if you want to gain a firm and better understanding of this*

**Author's guarantee - **_If I recieve loads of bad reviews, I'll remove this from this website as I don't want to do the fandom or pairing an injustice_


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